her shins.
Waiting.
In the quiet, shadowed room, she breathed in the unique aroma of aftershave and gun oil, and the headier scent of warm male. On the back of the chair behind her he’d tossed his jeans and a rumpled T-shirt. Close at hand on the nightstand, he’d placed his freshly cleaned gun and his deadly switchblade.
His discarded boxers lay on the floor.
He fascinated her.
After breaking into his house, she’d removed her sneakers and put them next to his boots by the front door. The air-conditioning, set on high, left her toes cold, but he’d covered himself with no more than a thin sheet.
Again and again, her gaze tracked over him, from one big foot sticking out over the side of the bed, up and over his flat, solid abs covered by the snowy-white sheet, to his chest—not covered by anything except enticing body hair.
With one arm behind his head, his underarm and the dark tuft of hair there were visible. Seeing that almost made him look vulnerable—except that, despite his relaxed pose, the positioning of his long arm made a thick biceps bulge.
At nearly six and a half feet tall, solidly built and finely sculpted, Spencer Lark was one of the biggest, strongest, most impressive men she’d ever met.
And she knew some really prime specimens.
His long lashes shadowed his high cheekbones, but that didn’t detract from the bruising beneath one eye. A recent fight? She smiled while picturing it, sure that Spencer had come out ahead. His skill at fighting intrigued her even more than his big bod.
Amazing, but even his slightly crooked nose held her rapt. When and how had he broken it?
She inhaled a deep breath and let it out in a quiet sigh that, given the silence in his home and Spencer’s acute instincts, disturbed his slumber.
Arizona admitted to herself that maybe she’d wanted to wake him. After all, she’d been watching him—and waiting—for a while now.
His head turned on the pillow, his legs shifted.
Holding herself perfectly still, she waited to see if he’d awaken, what he’d do, what he’d say. She didn’t know him all that well, and yet…she did.
Sort of.
They’d met nearly a month ago while they were both on a sting. Immediately, they’d butted heads, and he’d infuriated her by interfering with her life.
But worse, he’d robbed her of the revenge she desperately craved.
Sure, he had his own need for revenge, so she understood his motives. She didn’t forgive him. Not yet, anyway.
But she did understand.
At least, she thought she did. Once they talked it over, then she’d decide for sure.
He made a soft, gravelly sound as he stretched that long, strong body. His chin tucked in. Muscles flexed.
The sheet tented.
Eyes widening, Arizona stared, not really alarmed, but no longer so at ease, either. She had a very dark history with aroused men, so she doubted she’d ever be unaffected by them. But she didn’t let it get in her way, not when she wanted something, not when she had a goal in mind.
She knew she should have taken Spencer’s gun, at the very least moved it out of his reach. But instead she’d found him in the bed, and before she’d even thought it through, she’d taken the empty seat and settled in to study him while he slept.
Since that fateful day when her destiny had been stolen from her, she’d seen him only a handful of times. She’d tried to stay away. She’d tried to forget about him.
She hadn’t been successful.
Stretching, he brought his hand out from behind his head, around to rub over his hair, across his face, down his chest.
As he gave a sleepy, growling groan, that hand disappeared under the sheet.
Arizona’s lips parted, and her heartbeat tripped up. She cleared her throat. “Spence?”
Freezing, without moving any other body part, he opened his eyes and met her gaze.
She frowned at him.
He didn’t look super-startled, and he said nothing. He just stared at her.
With his hand still under there.
“Yeah…” Semi-satisfied with his frozen reaction, she nodded at his lap. “You weren’t going for a little tug, were you? Because as your spectator, I’d just as soon not see it.”
He brought his hand out and put it back behind his head, still silent, still watching her. Almost…relaxed.
His gaze was so dark, so compelling, she felt like squirming, damn it. “I mean, I guess I could wait in the other room if it’s really necessary. That is, if you don’t take too long.”
He disappointed her by not reacting. As if he often woke to an uninvited woman playing voyeur in his bedroom, he looked her over, from her bare toes up to her long, wind-tangled hair.
“Been here long?”
“Maybe half an hour or so.” Curiosity prompted her to ask, “Were you going to…you know?” She nodded at his lap.
“Most men say hi to the boys first thing.”
“Say hi?”
With no sign of discomfort, he shrugged one shoulder. “You broke in.”
A statement, not a question. She gave her own casual shrug. “Since you’re not dumb enough to leave the place unlocked, yeah, I had to.”
He turned his head, but not to check on the time. He saw the gun still on the nightstand where he’d left it and brought his gaze back to hers again. “You know how to make coffee?”
One eyebrow lifted high. “Trying to get me out of the room so you can leave the bed? I’m not squeamish, you know. I mean, with my background, I’ve seen plenty of—”
He threw off the sheet and sat up, effectively shutting down her snide retort.
Ho boy.
“If you don’t know how to make coffee, just say so.” Spencer stretched again, harder, longer this time. Sitting on the side of the bed, he snagged up his boxers and stepped into them. As he stood, he pulled them up.
They fit like a glove.
He still had a tent going.
And she still stared.
He picked up the gun and, betraying some trust issues, checked to make sure she hadn’t unloaded it. Discovering she hadn’t touched it at all, he nodded in satisfaction.
As he
